


Charcoal, crayons, and gold

by whataboutpierre (sunflowerwithfeelings)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Artist Grantaire, Consent, Friends to Lovers, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Enjolras, Public Blow Jobs, enjolras is horny over art lmao, this just in: grantaire is an impressionist artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwithfeelings/pseuds/whataboutpierre
Summary: He had noticed the leather bound, black sketchbook that was constantly open on the back table in front of Grantaire for weeks now. The contents of the sketchbook lay a mystery to him. Whatever it was, however, didn’t concern him right?“I wanted to see what you’re always working on. I’ve heard you’re really good.” Enjolras asked. Before Grantaire had the chance to slide it over to Enjolras, Enjolras decided to be bold and scoot closer to Grantaire, his chest resting on Grantaire’s forearm.“Wow,” he gapped.





	Charcoal, crayons, and gold

**Author's Note:**

> -I haven't written porn in a long time pls forgive me  
> -After much debate and slight self-projection, i decided Grantaire would be more of an abstract artist, or my version of him would be. I'm also one so if this is also your art style,, take this with a grain of salt if you get offended. this is just my experience with it lol.  
> -If you like this story, leave a kudos and a comment! I love those a lot

He had noticed the leather bound, black sketchbook that was constantly open on the back table in front of Grantaire for weeks now. Its spine lay faced down as Grantaire’s skilled hands held an assortment of utensils to draw, sometimes a normal pencil, sometimes charcoal, one time a crayon. Enjolras didn’t pay much mind to it, except he did, taking pauses every so often to try and see if he could peer onto the pages, just to see if he could get a glimpse of the magic. But it was always at the wrong angle or too awkward to see anything. The contents of the sketchbook lay a mystery to him.

Whatever it was, however, didn’t concern him right? Grantaire was always looking elsewhere, so it’s not like it mattered. He was always moving and looking out the window or at Jehan. Enjolras didn’t judge that, if he was going to draw anyone it might as well be Jehan. They were always the pinnacle of abstract at all times.

One day, Enjolras had peaked the courage to ask Grantaire what he was doing. His hair was a mess and all in his face, it looked like the man had just woken up to be frank. His evergreen hoodie was decorated in years of art projects, oil, acrylic, and charcoal stains alike. He looked up, his blue eyes sparkling from the sunlight outside.

“Just starting my sketching for the day Apollo,” he had said. Which didn’t at all make sense since the meetings were on Fridays at five in the afternoon. They’d scheduled them that way so they could be out and about the cafe at its busiest time, help gain supporters. So the fact that Grantaire was just starting his day out at nearly 5 in the afternoon bewildered Enjolras.

He brought the topic up to Combeferre after his brain had nawed away at it for far too long. Enjolras was sitting across from Combeferre at the library, his eyes scanning over the words of his textbook but his brain retaining none of it.

“Grantaire takes evening classes at the Art Students League. His classes don’t start till 6:30 or 7.” Combeferre had said, his eyes not leaving the book in front of him. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, his knuckle coming up to push them back up.

“How come I didn’t know that?” Enjolras wondered out loud, he felt guilty for not knowing as much as Combeferre in this situation. It’s not like Combeferre was best friends with Grantaire, neither was Enjolras, but the fact that he knew more about him than Enjolras bothered him.

“Jehan told me one day when he’d fallen asleep during a meeting. He left with the left side of his face covered in black charcoal pencil because he fell asleep on his sketchbook. Plus it’s my job to notice the small things.” Combeferre smiled and looked up at Enjolras to entertain his joke.

This bothered Enjolras more than it was supposed to. Why should he care about what classes Grantaire takes, it’s not like he ever talked about them specifically. Or maybe he did but Enjolras was just too preoccupied to listen or pay attention? This trail of thought led him down a rabbit hole in his mind as to whether or not he payed attention to not just Grantaire but all of his friends. To counteract his brain, he went down a list of everyone in the Les Amis and named off all the classes they were taking and what their major was. When he got to Grantaire, ultimately last on the list, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He learned from Combeferre about the night classes but what was it he was exactly doing? Enjolras couldn’t narrow Grantaire’s interested art field down to one thing since he saw him using every art supplies the craft store sold. Fucking crayons and the whole Crayola isle included.

Try as he could, Enjolras couldn’t shake this. It was what his brain resorted to when he wasn’t thinking or studying. While he was mindlessly walking to his classes, to his apartment, to the kitchen even. His mind was a powder-keg of pigment and questions with a portrait of R painted on the front.

Friday rolled around again and Enjolras was particularly attuned to not even look at Grantaire in fear that would lead him to ask embarrassing questions he thought he should already know. When he walked into the room, Grantaire wasn’t there yet and he cheered in victory to himself. A small part of him wanted R to temporarily go aloof as his brain settled down in his head.

But the universe simply didn’t want to comply with Enjolras’ wishes. Midway through him speaking, he spotted a drowsy artist slip in through the doorway and quietly seat himself in the back. His sketchbook planted on the table accordingly. He continued to speak, turning away from Grantaire but subconsciously watching him out of the corner of his eye. Which would've been fine had Grantaire not been staring at him the whole time. He raked his fingers through his messy brown hair and sat up, acutely watching Enjolras, then darting his eye to the paper in the sketchbook. He was drawing him. _He was drawing him._

Sirens began wailing in Enjolras’ mind. He began to strictly instruct himself during his speech, smiling more, straightening his posture, talking less with his hands. Enjolras took a back seat during his own talk, simply letting the words flow out of his mouth while his real attention was focused in on the brunette artist in the back who was working on perfecting Enjolras’ jawline. Or maybe he was drawing his hair that he totally didn’t take an extra ten minutes on this morning.

Enjolras quickly finished whatever was left of his speech and let Combeferre have the floor, casually walking over to Grantaire’s table. Casual probably wasn’t the right word as Enjolras was walking with confidence but sweating from every pore he had. Grantaire didn’t seem to notice, in fact, he looked up and smiled. He scooted his chair over and placed his pencil in between the sheets of paper in his book, closing it and looking back at Enjolras as he sat down, ready to give him his undivided attention.

“Yes, Apollo?” He asked, the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk.

Enjolras sat back and relaxed his legs. “I always see you sketching during the meetings.”

“Oh, shall I stop?”

“What?” Enjolras furrowed his brows and looked over at Grantaire, utterly confused. “No, no. I wanted to see what you’re always working on. I’ve heard you’re really good.” Enjolras stopped there. He wasn’t going to mention how he had sat down with Jehan over in their apartment and had tea while Jehan scrolled through pictures of Grantaire’s art. Enjolras had been absolutely stunned and even if he didn’t understand impressionism, Jehan made sure to explain it the best they could. He wouldn’t say he fawned over it but he couldn’t help from slouching on Jehan’s wooden kitchen chairs and feel his heart squeeze at the pure talent Grantaire possessed.

“Really?” Grantaire seemed amazed that Enjolras would ask such a thing. Maybe this is why Enjolras hadn’t known any of this before, because he hadn’t been paying attention.

When Enjolras nodded his head, Grantaire hesitated before removing his pencil and fanning pages starting from the very front, scrambling to look for a picture he deemed suitable for Enjolras to see. He had tons of sketches inside but most were too messy for a normal person to look at and digest or left unfinished because he could work from those. Grantaire knew Enjolras probably wanted to see the one he’d been sketching today but there was no way in hell he’d show him that one. It was far too embarrassing for him to handle for that day.

He flipped to a picture of Jehan he had done a couple months back, one of the less messy ones even if it was sketched over in three different colors. He’d originally done it in red pencil because it was the closest thing to him at the time, but then went to work on it in blue because that’s what he favored over red, and finally went over it in a stark black. Jehan was sitting down on a pillow covered bench just before the window at their apartment. Their arm was out of the window and their eyes closed, feeling the wind blow through the forever messy braid they always had, littered with flowers they’d picked earlier that day.

Before he had the chance to slide it over to Enjolras, Enjolras decided to be bold and scoot closer to Grantaire, his chest resting on Grantaire’s forearm.

“Wow,” he gapped, reaching and tracking the delicate lines with the tips of his finger. Grantaire could feel heat rising in his body with the close proximity Enjolras was to him. He could definity feel his cheeks turn pink and he prayed Enjolras didn’t look up. “Could I see one that’s a bit more refined?”

Grantaire looked around and saw Feuilly and Bahorel get up to leave and he suddenly had an excuse. “Sorry Apollo, I gotta be heading out.”

Before Enjolras had the chance to protest, Grantaire closed his sketchbook, grabbed his pencil, and awkwardly shuffled out of the cafe, quickly zigzagging out of the door. Enjolras huffed and settled his head on the table, Combeferre giving him an apologetic look before seeing Feuilly and Bahorel off.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire felt the wind hit him as he exited the cafe and began his walk to the school. It felt different though, considering he was an hour ahead of his usual schedule. All because of stupid Enjolras. The only upside to his early departure was that he’d be early to class for once in his life, himself being the fashionably late type.

He took an impressionist still life and portraiture class which, in his opinion, was just a fancy way of saying “messy surrealism” or “abstract realism” or “i-want-to-have-talent-but-i-have-no-art-skills”. When he talked about it with Jehan, he always described it as colleges putting a fancy name on the program just so they could have the excuse to annually take $1,200 away from already poor artists. They’d laugh and then Jehan would let Grantaire buy books with their discount.

The pavement’s rough textured sounds comforted Grantaire in his walk, his brain rambling off a millions miles an hour trying to justify him leaving so fucking early. The contents of his sketchbook was sacred, and incredibly embarrassing. Way too many sketches of Enjolras in there to be considered healthy, could easily be considered a shrine of it weren’t for the occasional birds, Jehan’s, and Éponine’s scattered across its fucked up pages. The paper wasn’t very good and was a nice white color when he originally got it. Now the pages are tan from the years of sitting around his apartment before he actually started using it. He brushed it off once the toned tan sketch pads became popular.

The one he’d been doing today was absolutely ‘no-Enjolras-allowed’. His upcoming show was drawing eerily close and that sketch would be a basis for one of the last pieces on display. It was incredibly last-minute of him really, but some of his best work was produced in a time crunch.

To dampen his free time, he stopped by a different coffee shop on the way to class, but not for the world’s best black coffee, in his personal opinion. He pressed on the wooden doors and a bell went off.

“Hey Ponine!”

“Wassup jackass-”

“Éponine!”

“Sorry Mrs. H.”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras was stretched out on Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s blue couch, a fuzzy yellow blanket draped over him like he was some sort of royal monarch from medieval europe, in Courfeyrac’s exact words. He scrolled through his feed on different social media platforms, mainly twitter and snapchat, his two personal favorites. A movie Combeferre and Courfeyrac were watching became background noise to Enjolras’ mindless scrolling till he saw a tweet from Grantaire on his timeline under ‘what you’ve missed'.

“Ferre, why haven’t we seen any of Grantaire’s art? How come Jehan is the only one who gets to?” Enjolras whined and rolled over in his stomach, the blanket almost falling victim to the floor.

“Maybe ‘cause he’s closer to Jehan than to you,” Courfeyrac said. “I don’t see you chilling at his apartment like this every weekend, although I wouldn’t mind that-”

“Courf!” Combeferre smiled and playfully hit the other in the arm. “He’s trying.”

“I am,” Enjolras said, looking back at Combeferre as a way to thank him for the support. “He just gets all...all..”

“Nervous?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Yes!”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac looked at each other and tried to hold in giggles the best they could but it was evident to Enjolras that he was missing something here. How useless was he?

“It’s not his fault he’s oblivious,” Combeferre said to Courfeyrac but Enjolras knew he intended it to be at him. Courfeyrac nodded and looked back at Enjolras, leaning over to touch shoulder and rub it in consolation.

Enjolras tried to ignore them like before but a quick check on snapchat proved fatal to their incessant jokes. Éponine had taken a picture of them, Grantaire flashing peace signs up, his hands covered in yellow, red, and white paints. Enjolras rolled back over on this back and covered his face with his arm.

“This is more entertaining than the movie,” Courfeyrac smiled.

 

* * *

 

The next Friday, Grantaire had come in drowsy and set his stuff down before going right to the bathroom. Enjolras guessed Grantaire had literally just woken up, still dressed in his old green sweater and ripped jeans from the day before, and raced to the cafe so he could be there on time and use the restroom. But he was actually fairly early as Joly and Bossuet had walked through the cafe doors three minutes later, the two of them together being fairly punctual.

“Hello!” Combeferre called out to the two of them as they made their way to the back.

“Hey y'all,” Bossuet said as they walked through the doorway. Enjolras greeted him a high five and Joly with a fist bump, he wasn’t much for handshakes.

Every so often, Enjolras would check the bathroom door to see if Grantaire was going to emerge again and seconds turned into hours for him. Grantaire had only been gone for five minutes but Enjolras thought it felt more like five hours. He had tried his best not to fixate on it too much but as he sat and waited, a ‘woah’ and a ‘whoops’ was heard from the otherside of the room. Somehow Bossuet had tripped and knocked into Grantaire’s backtable, no damage done except knock his sketchbook onto the floor, it’s spine hitting with a soft thud. Enjolras rushed over and when he saw Bossuet was okay, and now safely in the hands of a smiling Joly, he looked down at the leatherbound book. It had opened to a random page somewhere in the middle of the book and Enjolras bent down to pick it up, to put it back, when he finally got a clear view of what Grantaire had been sketching a week ago. It was different than what Jehan had showed him, it was precise and clean and overall ethereal. Enjolras looked like something more godlike than human with his golden halo of hair flowing loosely and his clothes drawn in the most dramatic fashion. He knew it was special to Grantaire but he flipped a page to see more to see another sketch of himself. And another. And another.

Enjolras had grown into Grantaire’s muse and he was just now realizing it.

His brain kicked into gear and he closed the book quickly, picking it up and looking back around. Because the universe is rarely on his side, Enjolras saw Grantaire emerge from the men’s room and lock eyes with him as he set the book back on the table’s wooden surface.

“What were you-”

“Oh no, nothing!” Enjolras spout off quickly, he knew how bad everything looked. “Bossuet knocked into the table and your book fell so I picked it up off the ground. I didn’t-”

Grantaire’s expression softened as he looked at Bossuet who was sitting next to Joly with the emergency ice pack on his knee. “It’s okay, shit happens.”

Enjolras smiled, kinda glad he cut him off before he lied, which is something he wasn’t very good at. He moved so Grantaire could take his seat at the table and the meeting started but Enjolras couldn’t focus on what it was about and who was talking about what. His mind was somewhere else; floating through the pages of Grantaire’s sketchbook. He wished he could look at everything and admire it, engrave it into his mind forever. He was off in a fantasy world and he didn’t want to come out.

 

* * *

 

“Grantaire, I know I said you could come by anytime but I didn’t think you’d take it literally,” Jehan said as they shut their apartment’s front door. They had a face and hair mask on, dressed in their pajamas that looked older than dirt, holes torn everywhere.

“I know but Ponine kicked me out of her apartment last time I whined about Enjolras.”

Jehan sighed and rested their hands on their hips, “okay. Sit down,” they motioned towards the kitchen table, ironically sitting them in the same seat Enjolras had been weeks prior. They made jasmine tea and set the mugs down with a light tud. “Now, what happened?”

“HelookedinmysketchbookandtotallyknowsI’mobsessedwithhim-”

Jehan rolled their eyes and rested their elbow on the table, “woah, woah, woah. Slow down.” They drew out their vowels and took a sip of tea even if it was scolding hot in Grantaire’s opinion. “Start from the beginning.”

“So I woke up late, well I thought it was late, and ran to the cafe. I didn’t even change my clothes from-” Grantaire looked at the creepy cat clock Jehan had in their kitchen, “-I guess two days ago.”

Jehan nodded, the towel on their head bobbing. “I can tell.”

“And when I got there, I had to pee so I went to the bathroom and I come back into the room and there he was, looking at my sketchbook. Or-well he wasn’t looking but it was in his hands. He said it dropped on the floor, what if it opened? What if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to?!” Grantaire’s grip on the mugs handle grew tight.

Jehan lifted Grantaire’s arm up for him to take a sip and relax cause letting him spout off random bullshit till he calmed down was going to take too much time for their liking. They hummed lightly and tapped their fingers on the table. “How do you know?”

“That he hates me?” Grantaire asked, the tea was still too hot but he let it burn his tongue and slide down his throat anyway. “Because he didn’t say anything during the entire meeting. Nothing Jehan, he just sat there staring into space, probably thinking about how big of a creep I am.”

“R no-”

Grantaire shook his head and looked up at the ceiling in hopes it’d give him the answer he needed, or cave in on him, or both. “What am I going to do?”

“Nothing I suppose,” Jehan shrugged. “There’s nothing you can do, is there? It seems like an innocent situation R. Enjolras isn’t the type of person to go snooping through other people’s stuff, especially if it’s someone he admires.”

That got him to crack a grin. “Enjolras doesn’t admire me, but thanks for the put-up.”

“I do try,” Jehan smiled and picked up his mug, motioning it to Grantaire. The two mugs clunk together and sipped their tea, sitting and listening to the faint EDM music Jehan had playing from their bedroom, the wind rustling against the window and the fire escape, the night-owl city outside.

Grantaire closed his eyes. Maybe he was thinking too deep into this and Jehan was right. They usually were.

 

* * *

 

The following weeks, series of text messages and whispers were exchanged between Éponine and Jehan, Jehan and Combeferre, and Combeferre and Enjolras. Late Saturday evening, Enjolras got a text message from Combeferre stating Grantaire had an art show the next Saturday and that all the Amis were going to surprise him. It bothered him that, again, Combeferre had been the one to know this information before him even when he’d started to become closer with Grantaire. He later learned this message had been passed down through a chain of command starting with Éponine asking Grantaire’s professor, who guided him through the process, because ‘there was no way in hell R was telling her.’ She told Jehan who saw Combeferre at the library in that same day, passing the message along till it fumbled its way onto Enjolras’ phone.

Enjolras wasn’t one for nerves but he started to feel what he assumed people meant by ‘butterflies’ in his stomach, creeping up to the palms of his hands. He rubbed them on his pants anxiously while the car hummed along the road. Combeferre had offered to drive them, Enjolras wearing business casual because he wasn’t quite sure on the dress requirements to walk through an art gallery, it hadn’t been his thing till recently. Additionally, Combeferre had given Enjolras a small bouquet of daisies, all of different colors, to hold as he drove. Enjolras’ hands grew sweaty holding the plastic encompassing them but his mind wandered elsewhere during the ride. They became an ‘out-of-mind’ object.

Combeferre had told Enjolras that the rest of them were showing up individually due to work and other extracurricular, like the environmental club Joly was in. He had dropped Enjolras off at the front, giving him in ticket.

“Go and see if Jehan’s already inside. I’m going to go park the car,” Combeferre said, the traffic in the parking lot starting to accumulate fast. Enjolras nodded and made his way to the front, the flowers still in his hand. It didn’t register that he’d been holding them till he noticed people staring at him. He was just going to support a very good friend who happened to be an artist—well duh he was. Why else would Enjolras be here? He was going to support his very good friend, who he’d been thinking about an incredible amount over the past few weeks, in his art journey.

He stopped his thoughts there.

He wasn’t about to rabbit-hole his mind again as to what his true feelings about Grantaire were. For now, him and his friends were just coming to support Grantaire, that’s all.

When Enjolras had come to this conclusion, he was well into the building, mindlessly walking around trying to find someone he knew, a face he’d recognize. He was looking, more specifically, for Jehan, who Combeferre suggested might be here earlier than everyone else. It had crossed his mind that ‘everyone else’ was taking their sweet time, including Combeferre who was just parking.  

Across the room he saw Grantaire, dressed in black slacks and a green sweater, a white collar popping up over the top, Enjolras assumed he had borrowed that from Bossuet since Grantaire never sported anything fancy. It simply wasn’t his style. Grantaire was more of a old sweatshirt kinda guy. An oversized t-shirt he got years ago over ripped jeans. A cozy sweater with too many holes; a warm long sleeve flannel; a closet full of sleep shirts. Not that Enjolras had ever seen Grantaire’s closet, but he was going off of assumptions. Bold assumptions.

Grantaire was talking to someone but quickly ended the conversation, turning to pick up a glass of champagne on a table at the side of the room. Enjolras decided to go ahead and talk to him, he had to at some point in the night. Grantaire was quick to spot him and immediately tried to smile but it was very obvious that Enjolras being there had surprised him but he was unsure if it was a good or bad thing.

Grantaire smirked when Enjolras tried to push the bouquet of flowers forward for him. “Who told you?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I’ll be honest, all I got was a text telling me to be here. I don’t know who started the rumor.” _A lie._ He tried to give Grantaire the flowers again. “These are for you, yanno. You’re the artist here.”

Grantaire accepted them and looked passed Enjolras into the group of people that had formed around one of his pieces. The wall behind Enjolras was the one he was most concerned with him seeing because it housed a giant portrait of Enjolras. The whole conversation with Enjolras played a record of the work ‘fuck’ in his mind. He had to carefully plan out his actions. In essence, just leave before Enjolras has the chance to catch him in his feelings. “Is anyone else coming?”

“Combeferre’s parking and Jehan was supposed to be here already,” Enjolras could tell Grantaire was uncomfortable. He tried to soften his expression, “Why?”

“Because I want to leave.”

Enjolras furrowed his brows, “why? Show me your art, and not just those sketches of Jehan.”

“I’d rather not-” Enjolras began to turn around, Grantaire quickly grabbing his shoulder so he stayed facing him. “Fine, fine, okay.”

Skillfully, Grantaire guided Enjolras to paintings he’d done earlier in the series, all portraits of people they knew but with bursts of color. Jehan in a flower crown with their long hair flowing against a blue toned background. Courfeyrac sitting down wearing his cheesy yellow smiley-face shirt. Joly reading a book in mint green. All were equally amazing and nothing quite to the effect of what Jehan had shown him before, these were much more vibrant and real. Not realistic, because that was far from Grantaire’s art style, but real in that they conveyed the distinct personalities and quirks in their friends. Besides each piece was a small plaque that had the pieces name, the number it was in the series, and a small description Grantaire totally hadn’t written at two-thirty in the morning a week ago.

The style was still the abstract, ‘impressionism’ Jehan had described it as. The figures of their friends weren’t in extreme detail but Enjolras could easily decipher who was who. It was easier for him to understand, not being an art person himself, because it was people he already knew. He was glad he didn’t need Jehan there to hold his hand and explain everything to him, he’d be far too embarrassed to ask Grantaire what his art meant since it was his and if Enjolras didn’t see it, he might think himself had. Which is the opposite of what he thought.

Enjolras made sure to compliment every piece, he didn’t want Grantaire to think anything less of brilliant, which is what his work was in Enjolras’ mind. Every time he did, Grantaire would smile and grow slightly more rosey, which may or may not have been the best part of everything for Enjolras. They’d stopped in front of a portrait of Éponine he had done. She was set against a purple background that brought out the browns in her hat, skin, and work apron Enjolras occasionally saw her sport. Her stark, black hair was highlighted with lavender and she was looking over her left shoulder as if to have an inviting conversation with the viewer. The number written on her plaque said ‘9/10’.

“That’s all of them,” Grantaire said, shuffling to the other side of Enjolras as to guide him out of the buildings front.

“But it says there’s one more.”

“Don’t pay attention to those-” Grantaire was cut off by an older man who came and put an arm around him, patting his back encouragingly. It startled Grantaire but he turned and looked at the man, smiling.

“Is he showing you around? Are you liking his work so far?” The man asked Enjolras, who assumed it must have been Grantaire’s professor.

“Yes! I’m absolutely in love with everything he’s done,” Enjolras boasted, although maybe a little too proud. Still sticking with the ‘here to support my very good friend’ mentality, he had to remind himself.

“I know, he’s just so bright and talented. Truly a genius. The one he did of you is my personal favorite.” The man beamed, the corners of his cheeks rising to touch his thinly framed glasses.

The gears in Enjolras’ brain stopped for a moment as he tried to recall if any of the ones he’d seen so far were of him, none that he could think of. Then he remembered there was still one he had yet to see. That must of been the one Grantaire was trying to hide.

“He painted me?” Enjolras asked, Grantaire’s face going pale as his professor straightened his posture and tried to fill the awkward air.

“Well I assumed it was you because of the hair and similar features, I could be wrong—”

“No. Where is it?” Enjolras began looking around to see if he could find one Grantaire hadn’t shown him.

Grantaire reached for Enjolras’ arm, thanking the professor, and taking him to the painting he’d tried avoiding all night. The crowd from earlier had dispersed and when Enjolras first caught sight of it, he held his breath. It was the sketch that he’d seen earlier in Grantaire’s sketchbook, but a thousand times better and more refined. The background was red faded to white in the center, Enjolras standing confidently in the middle with a fist in the air. His blonde hair were infused with pieces of gold-leaf that Grantaire had scattered around to appear in the shape of a halo. Varying shades of red and contrasting blues and greens gave Enjolras’ figure dimension. He was blown away.

“Grantaire...this is…” He lost his train of thought, there wasn’t a word grand enough to convey the warm feeling in his heart as it did somersaults in his chest. Brilliant wasn’t enough. Astonishing wasn’t enough.  

“I’m sorry if you think it’s creepy or something-” Grantaire met Enjolras’ eyes, blue glassy mirrors into his passionate soul.

“Not at all Grantaire,” Enjolras reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand, giving a firm squeeze in appreciation. Since befriending Courf, Enjolras has always had the tendency to start touching others, ones that he’s close to, as a way of expressing his feelings since he found sentimental words more difficult than that of war cries. The noise from people around them chatting seemed to fade into a subtle ambiance, the two men drifting closer and closer together in that moment.

Enjolras turned back to look at Grantaire after studying the painting more, the distance between the two growing shorter by the second. He was just there to support his good friend, he reminded himself, but he knew it was much more than that. He was there to support Grantaire, the man he’d been slowly falling in love with.

Eyelashes fluttered shut, hot breath lingered on skin, and Enjolras was wrapped up in the best art of them all, Grantaire. He tasted like champagne and warm coffee, probably something he had before coming to the event, no doubt waking up just before he was supposed to leave. He bit down on Grantaire’s bottom lip, drawing a soft groan out of him, which turned him on more than the kiss itself. The public setting buzzed back to Enjolras, breaking the kiss early and giving Grantaire a look of want and desire. In seconds, Grantaire was dragging Enjolras by the hand out of the rooms where his artwork hung, down a hallway, and into the bathrooms at the other end. A public bathroom wasn’t the exact spot Enjolras envisioned his first makeout session with Grantaire would be, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

The bathroom was empty, all the stall doors pushed in to signify they were open. Grantaire set the daisies on the sink counter and pressed Enjolras against the wall, attacking his mouth with an even bigger force than the small kiss in the gallery. He drew out delicious sounds from Enjolras and pulled away.

“This is okay, right?”

Enjolras smiled with his turned red lips, “yes. This is way more than okay.”

He ran his fingers through Grantaire’s curls and switched them around, pressing Grantaire against the wall, his knee raking between Grantaire’s legs. Grantaire moaned into Enjolras’ mouth as Enjolras’ hands explored Grantaire’s body, feeling how tight his pants were starting to get. Lightly grazing over that area with his fingers made Grantaire grind himself into Enjolras, his fingers pulling on Enjolras’ blonde hair. He groaned and kissed Grantaire again before sinking to his knees.

His fingers worked open the fly of Grantaire’s pants, his bulge becoming increasingly hard as Enjolras teased him. Grantaire’s fingers ran through Enjolras’ hair as a sign of encouragement so he continued on, stroking at his cock through fabric till Enjolras grew too impatient for his own teasing. He pulled Grantaire’s pants down and stroked up and down Grantaire’s length before sucking on the head.

“Oh my _god_ Enjolras,” Grantaire moaned.

A babble of moans and half spoken sentences trickled out of Grantaire as Enjolras bobbed his head, sucking up and down Grantaire’s shaft. The cold tile of the bathroom heated under Enjolras’ left palm as it pressed to keep him balanced. His knees began to hurt mildly from the hard floor but he didn’t mind, his own bulge hardening as he pulled more and more sounds from the artist. Grantaire’s curly hair stuck against his forehead as he tried to keep himself from bucking into Enjolras’ mouth. He buried his hands in Enjolras’ blonde hair, gently pulling and scraping his scalp as to not disrupt his curls. But Enjolras enjoyed that far too much. The more Grantaire pulled, the more heat stirred in him, moaning around Grantaire’s cock.

This vibration made Grantaire arch his back off of the wall.

“Enjolras...I’m close,” he warned.

Enjolras hummed and quickened his pace, moving his hand up and down places on Grantaire’s shaft his mouth wasn’t at. He wished he could drag this moment out longer but the satisfaction that came with pleasuring Grantaire made Enjolras’ heart race.

Grantaire released a muffled moan and slumped against the wall and Enjolras, to his surprise, swallowed everything, slowing his pace as Grantaire came down from his high. Enjolras’ mouth let go of Grantaire’s cock with a dangerously arousing pop. He stood up, brushing Grantaire’s hair out of his face.

“I—um…,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras smiled and kissed his cheek. “Your artwork is amazing. You’re amazing.”

Grantaire grabbed ahold of Enjolras hand and kissed his knuckles, a sweet and intimate gesture. “I believe that.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://queersunflowers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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